


Huzzah du Penda Netu!

by MrsHamill



Series: Riding the Wheel of If [13]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Multi, Other, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: They've agreed to get married.  Now, they just need to escape to make it happen.  Yoda and Mace have other ideas, however. This is the epilogue to the saga, which was originally written for the 'zine. It picks up immediately after the last episode of the original Wheel arc, and it will make absolutely no sense unless you've read that.  Maybe not even if you have.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lessee... Beta by Fox, inspiration by Hiperbunny (and the title too), story by MuseBoy, carpet by Carpetland, catering by IBC, Yoda's stockings courtesy of Victoria's Secret, and lube courtesy of www.blowfish.com

A rather numb Obi-Wan Kenobi looked up from his sandwich as his new fiancé literally bounced into the room. “You’re all set,” Qui-Gon Jinn said, picking up his own sandwich and taking a big bite. “The quartermaster is sending up dress whites – she said she could guess your size from earlier, whatever that means – and I ordered you a couple of sets of everyday things too, but she said you’ll have to drop by later this afternoon for a measurement.” His words only slightly slurred by his mouth full of food, Qui-Gon swallowed and twisted his mouth into a wry grin as he watched Obi-Wan drink from his root beer bottle. “You really like that – fluid?” he asked.

“Nectar of the gods,” Obi-Wan replied, savoring every drop. Perhaps this was the right reality for him, after all … despite the misgivings that haunted him. He wondered, briefly, if they always would.

“Well, you’ll have to drink all of the case I ordered from her too, then, because I can’t stand it.” Qui-Gon laughed – Obi-Wan’s expression must have reflected his dazed astonishment.

“You ordered me a case of root beer?”

“Consider it an early wedding present,” Qui-Gon replied, grinning broadly. To Obi-Wan, he seemed almost giddy – which was almost, but not quite, annoying, given Obi-Wan’s currently unsettled feelings.

Obi-Wan snorted, still too much in shock over the day’s events to think beyond the moment. “I – I don’t …”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan found himself flushing at the endearment. “Don’t start getting all coy on me now,” Qui-Gon added, seeing the color bloom. “I have a lot of sweet nothings saved up, and you’re going to get all of them. At least a dozen years’ worth, I think.”

Appalled, Obi-Wan said, “Qui-Gon Jinn, if you start calling me saccharine names in front of the rest of the Jedi, I’m liable to …” He trailed off and sighed as he caught the mischievous twinkle in Qui-Gon’s eyes. “You bastard.”

“You never know, Obi-love, you never know,” Qui-Gon laughed. “I can call you that, can’t I?” The door chimed before Obi-Wan could form an indignant reply, and Qui-Gon took a hasty swallow of his tea. “That’ll be our packages. Finish up. We’ve got less than an hour to get ready.”

Making a sour face, Obi-Wan said, “Are you sure I’m supposed to go? I mean, I’m not even from this reality …”

“But it’s your home now,” Qui-Gon said firmly, going to answer the door. He signed for the packages and handed the case of root beer to his intended. “Here’s your whites,” he added, putting the package on the table and kissing Obi-Wan – in passing, but with time-stop. “We both need a shower, and while I’d love to invite you to take one with me, I’m afraid we’d never get out of here if we did,” he said quietly, kissing Obi-Wan again. “Do you want to go first?”

“No, you go ahead,” Obi-Wan said, distracted by the kisses and the root beer. “You take longer than I do anyway.”

“You should let your hair grow, then you’d take longer too.”

“Now you sound like Maul,” Obi-Wan muttered, and to the quizzical look Qui-Gon shot him, he merely flapped his hands. “Go on, go. If I have to get ready to go …” He sighed as Qui-Gon left the room, his boots crunching on the pieces of lightsaber that were still lying on the floor.

“I suppose I ought to do something about that,” Obi-Wan muttered, looking crossly at the mess on the carpet. It included a rather large burn where the still-hot power source had come to rest after exploding. “Or maybe I ought to just requisition a new carpet. That might actually be easier in the long run.”

He took their meager dishes to the kitchenette to clean, and before he was quite finished, there was another knock on the door. Wiping his hands on his tunic, Obi-Wan went to the door to discover Yoda on the other side. Closing his eyes for a moment to center himself, Obi-Wan planted his fists on his hips and glared. “Come to do more meddling?” he asked, discovering that he was not quite as annoyed with Yoda as he should be. Had been. Once was. Whatever.

“My business, meddling is,” Yoda replied mildly, brushing past Obi-Wan and entering the apartment. From the refresher, the sounds of a shower could be heard. “Not killed each other then? Good this is.” He stopped at the burn mark on the carpet, and his ears came all the way up to attention as he studied the wrecked ‘saber. “Clean this up you should,” he said, turning to give Obi-Wan the eye. “Hurt someone it could.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his face with both hands in order to hide his expression from Yoda. He couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to glare, but the tendency towards the former was beginning to win out, and that would never do. “Why did you steal my ‘saber?” he finally asked, although he knew the answer.

“Know the answer to that you do already,” Yoda said, an insufferably smug expression on his face, and Obi-Wan fought the instinct to throttle the little green troll. “Staying you are, yes? Then good came of it. Justify the means, the ends often do.”

“That is ridiculous,” Obi-Wan said. He perched on the arm of Qui-Gon’s worn sofa and shook his head. “And if I used that excuse, you’d skin me and hang me out to dry.”

“Younger you are,” Yoda said, shrugging. “When eight hundred fifty years old you are, excuses like that you may use too.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Obi-Wan said, trying to maintain his annoyance and pretty much failing. Despite all his misgivings, his mood was consistently lightening.

Yoda cackled. “Do that, young knight,” he said, and thumped Obi-Wan – gently – on the boot with his gimer stick. “A great future I see for you here,” he added, more kindly, and this time, he laid one claw on Obi-Wan’s leg. “Welcome you I do to the Jedi. Apartment, do you need?”

“He’ll be staying here,” Qui-Gon said from the door of the ‘fresher. He was wet; he had a towel wrapped around his hips and a glare for his former master. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing here, Yoda,” he added. Then he smiled gently at Obi-Wan. “I hurried. It’s all yours, Obi.”

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh and a smile. Since Yoda showed no signs of leaving, he shrugged, grabbed his backpack and went into the ‘fresher. Qui-Gon made him pause for an unashamed kiss on the way. Still feeling rather confused, Obi-Wan closed the door behind himself and began cleaning up.

–––––––

Qui-Gon intended on ignoring Yoda, but it didn’t surprise him overmuch when Yoda refused to be ignored. “New carpet you need,” Yoda said, following Qui-Gon into his bedroom and perching on the bed as Qui-Gon began to dress.

“Noticed that, did you? Sharp as a tack you are, Master.” From the ‘fresher, the sound of the shower could again be heard

“Need for sarcasm there is not,” Yoda said sharply. “Worked, did it? Staying, he is?”

“Yes, Yoda,” Qui-Gon said with a sigh as he pulled on his underclothes and removed his dress whites from the closet. “He’s staying. Which you already know.” Shooting Yoda a sharp look, Qui-Gon added, “And since you already know this, why are you still here?”

“Ensuring it I am,” Yoda said, his voice positively dripping with wounded feeling. “Care about him, I do. Care about you both, I do, despite what you think.”

With a huge sigh, Qui-Gon sat down on the bed next to his former master. “I know, I know,” he said. “I care about him too. I’m sorry.” 

“Hrummph.” Yoda fingered his gimer stick thoughtfully, and after a moment, Qui-Gon began dressing again. “If care about him you do, ask him to marry you should,” Yoda finally said, not looking up.

“Ask him, I already have,” Qui-Gon replied, in the process of tugging on socks. 

“Said yes, did he?” Yoda said, and Qui-Gon whipped around to stare at the note of eagerness he heard in Yoda’s voice.

“Yes …” Qui-Gon replied, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “That’s why you’re here! Don’t even think about it, Yoda.”

“Needs a party, the Temple does,” Yoda said complacently, as he hopped off the bed and began to hobble out. “Excuse this is. Much fun will we have.”

“Yoda! Forget it!” Qui-Gon yelled, following Yoda into the common area. 

“Stop you should,” Yoda said from the door, pointing to Qui-Gon’s sock-clad feet, “before hurt you are. Get that cleaned up you should,” he added, cackling as he left the apartment.

“That little sneaky, conniving, devious, underhanded …” Qui-Gon continued muttering under his breath and pacing until Obi-Wan came out of the ‘fresher and gave him a puzzled look. 

“What’s the matter?” Obi-Wan asked. He had already dressed in his underwear, and after glancing around absently, began walking into the common room.

“Wait, don’t,” Qui-Gon said, taking his arm. “You’ll hurt yourself. Why do you – oh, you need the package from the quartermaster.” Qui-Gon shoved his legs into his pants and then tugged his boots on. “And the matter is my lousy ex-master. Obi, we’re going to have to get off planet … maybe tonight.”

“Huh?” Obi-Wan sat down on Qui-Gon’s bed and used a towel on his hair. “Why?”

“Because my former master is a sith!” Qui-Gon growled. “Because his whole purpose in coming here was to find out … oh … never mind.” Stalking into the common area, Qui-Gon retrieved Obi-Wan’s dress whites and handed them over.

“No, now you’ve got me worried,” Obi-Wan said. “I know the little frog is devious … what did he want to know?”

Slumping, Qui-Gon pulled his tunic over his head and didn’t look at Obi-Wan as he answered. “He wanted to know if I’d asked you to marry me, and wants to make it an excuse to throw us a party,” he mumbled, but not softly enough for Obi-Wan to mis-hear.

Obi-Wan froze. “A party?” he said, incredulous. “You must be joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I only wish,” Qui-Gon replied sourly. “I think we should pack now, and as soon as we get back from the Senate, find a transport and get the hell out of here.”

“I can’t … I – I don’t even have clean clothes …” Obi-Wan said, looking around almost frantically.

“I’ve got enough credit, we’ll buy whatever we need,” Qui-Gon said, viciously yanking his stola straight.

“Where?” Obi-Wan reluctantly began to dress again, pulling his pants on.

“I don’t know … Dantooine,” Qui-Gon said. “Alderaan. Hoth, for pity’s sake.” Forcibly calming himself, he walked over to Obi-Wan and cupped his face. “As long as you’re with me, I don’t care where, Obi-Wan,” he said softly, sincerely.

His face melting into the first genuine smile Qui-Gon had seen in hours, Obi-Wan kissed his hand. “You are a terrible romantic, Qui-Gon,” he said. “Thank you.” 

“Then we’re agreed?” Qui-Gon asked, looking earnestly into his face. “Right after the Senate hearing.”

“Sounds good to me,” Obi-Wan said, standing and pulling Qui-Gon to him for a kiss.

–––––––

Of course, they couldn’t. Mace and Yoda met them at the shuttle pad, and, as it turned out, were going with them – along with Loral AmKaRa and SaSalasho Fellis, and half the council. Finis Valorum himself met them at the Senate landing pad, and pulled Qui-Gon into a hug. “Congratulations, old friend!” he said, thumping Qui-Gon on the back. Releasing a puzzled Qui-Gon, he turned to Obi-Wan. “Yoda gave me the good news, and I’m just so terribly pleased for both of you,” he said, pumping a shocked Obi-Wan’s somewhat limp hand.

“Yoda?” Qui-Gon said, managing to imbue his voice with enough menace to make Mace Windu quail. “Yoda told you, eh?”

His serenity flying before him like a flag, Yoda led the way into the Senate building. “A family, Jedi are. Meant to be shared, family joys are.”

Qui-Gon let everyone precede him, holding Mace Windu back to the last of the line. “Mace,” he hissed. “You let that damn troll throw us a party, and so help me …”

“Oh stop it, Qui-Gon Jinn,” Mace said irritably, shaking Qui-Gon’s hand off his arm. “You always want to be a wet blanket. This is a joyous occasion – even if it does involve you – and your friends and family want to celebrate it with you. Get over it.”

“I will not get over it,” Qui-Gon said, following as Mace and Obi-Wan walked into the senate building. “You had better be the one to get over it instead! We don’t want a party, Mace. Clear?”

Before Mace could verbalize the annoyed reply his face carried, two Senate pages hurried out to meet them. “Master Jedi? We’re waiting for you, sirs,” one of them said, urging them on. “Master Jinn, Knight Kenobi, we can’t start without you.”

Qui-Gon had a bad feeling about that.

–––––––

The fact that support for awarding Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi the Republic Star of Valor – the highest award the Senate could grant to a non-military entity – was not unanimous (the Malastarian delegation, naturally, opposed it) did nothing to improve either gentleman’s temper. They neither wanted nor felt they had earned the medals, since, as far as they were concerned, they were only doing their jobs. But Chancellor Valorum would not be gainsaid, and even Yoda, usually the most vocal against such awards, seemed pleased.

They endured the cheers and the standing ovation. They endured the ceremony, with as much grace as they could muster. They even managed to smile when Valorum told them they’d be the guests of honor at the reception immediately following the emergency session. Although, at one point, Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan aside and whispered in his ear, “Do you think if I killed most of the Council now, we might be able to escape in the confusion?” Obi-Wan choked on his drink and had to be pounded on his back by his fiancé.

And that fact, of course, once it got out at the reception, only made it worse. Instead of just receiving a medal, now they were engaged, and every single delegate who had ever met Qui-Gon – and there were a lot of them – inquired about the ceremony and asked to be invited. Qui-Gon kept telling them there wasn’t going to be a public ceremony, but that was undermined almost immediately by Yoda and Mace Windu declaring there would be. Even AmKaRa and Fellis got into the act, telling Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon how pleased they were for the pair and offering advice on bonding ceremonies, honeymoon resorts and gift registration.

It wasn’t until after mid-night that they managed to get back to the Temple, and both men were exhausted and all too aware that their plans for escape had been ruined. They closed the door behind them and both leaned on it wearily, until Qui-Gon reached out to dial up the lights and discovered the carpet was missing. “What the …” Obi-Wan indicated the dataset message light, and Qui-Gon sat to discover a message from the Temple maintenance crew. They were sorry to admit that while they managed to remove the old carpeting, the new carpeting would not be put in until tomorrow. Master Yoda’s compliments. Qui-Gon put his head in his hands and moaned.

“It could be worse, you know,” Obi-Wan said, squeezing Qui-Gon’s shoulder. 

After a moment, Qui-Gon put his hand over Obi-Wan’s and squeezed back, sighing. “It could?” he asked. He stood, and, still holding Obi-Wan’s hand, walked to the bedroom.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, letting himself be tugged into the other room. “In my – in the reality where I was born, you were Yoda’s grand-padawan.” 

Ignoring the slight hesitation in his words, Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan to him and kissed his neck. “Who was my master there, then?” he asked softly.

“Dooku … mmmm …” said Obi-Wan, humming his pleasure as Qui-Gon nuzzled his neck. 

Qui-Gon pulled away and looked at Obi-Wan, puzzled. “Who? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name,” he said.

“We can look it up later,” Obi-Wan said, and pulled Qui-Gon back down to his mouth.

–––––––

“They’re planning on escape, you know,” Mace Windu said.

“Yes,” Yoda replied. “Tonight they would have tried. Foiled, it was.”

“It’ll have to be soon … tomorrow evening?”

“Good idea that is. Get your Padawan to help, you should.”

“She’d be delighted,” Mace replied, grinning evilly.

–––––––

Any plans they might have had for either sleeping in late or escaping the planet the next morning were ruined by workmen arriving far too early to replace the rug. By the time they’d eaten breakfast – standing in the kitchenette to avoid the carpet-layers – the quartermaster’s office had sent someone to request Obi-Wan’s presence for a fitting. 

“I’ll go and get some clothes,” Obi-Wan whispered to Qui-Gon. “You find us a transport off this rock. Soon.”

“To hear is to obey … we need to get out of here before Yoda wises up,” Qui-Gon replied, equally sotto voce.

But by the time Obi-Wan was finished with his fitting – with the promise that several sets of tunics, boots and underclothes would be delivered within the hour – he was waylaid by a tearfully ecstatic Bant Eerin, who could hardly believe that her old friend was once more alive. She dragged him off to the commissary for an early lunch, where he was hugged and cried over by several of his childhood friends, to his consternation. He was so flustered he didn’t even see Mace Windu standing in the doorway, grinning.

Escaping by making promises to visit at length, and soon, he nearly ran down the corridor to Qui-Gon’s apartment, only to find it empty – and the new carpet laid. The dataset message light was once more blinking, and, hoping it was Qui-Gon with an escape plan, he checked it.

It was Sasha Fellis, leaving a laughing message. “Okay, Kenobi, here’s the deal … I’ve got your fiancé and if you ever want to see him alive again, you’ll show up at our quarters before second hour – bringing stories! Loral and I are calling in our markers – we’ve got a feeling if we don’t talk to you now, we won’t be able to for weeks. So come on, already!”

“She’s got part of that right anyway,” Obi-Wan muttered, clearing the message. He went into the bedroom to discover Qui-Gon had already received and put away the clothing that had been delivered for him, making room in his closet and dresser – something which made Obi-Wan feel oddly tender. There was an empty satchel on the bed, and it was fairly obvious that Qui-Gon had been interrupted in the process of packing for their escape.

“We are never leaving this planet again,” Obi-Wan moaned; suddenly, nearly hysterically, wishing his switch ‘saber was still in one piece so he and Qui-Gon could get away.

He found Qui-Gon sitting on a sofa in Loral and Sasha’s apartment, a cup of tea in his hands. As Obi-Wan entered the room, Qui-Gon looked up and greeted him with the strangest combination of expressions on his face – trapped, contrite, amused, frustrated – and Obi-Wan just shook his head in resignation. Loral sat opposite Qui-Gon, laughing at something he had just said as Sasha led Obi-Wan in. “Oh, don’t look so glum, Obi-Wan!” Sasha chuckled. “I’ve got something here you’d like … well, besides Qui-Gon anyway,” she added, handing him a frosty cold brown bottle.

“Well, that goes a long ways towards repairing my feelings towards you,” he said, smiling wryly as he sat down next to Qui-Gon. Both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had spent some time with Sasha and Loral – separately – on the “Pride of Coruscant” on the way back from Naboo, and all four got along well. Ordinarily, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have objected to spending some time with them, but not necessarily at that moment …

“Sorry, Obi-love,” Qui-Gon whispered as Obi-Wan took a seat next to him. 

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said, giving him an amused and frustrated look at the endearment. Then, with a fatalistic sigh, he added, “But it’s all right. We might as well just resign ourselves to our fate.”

At Obi-Wan’s comment, Loral and Sasha looked at each other and burst out laughing. “It’s only a party,” Loral said, in his deep, resonant voice. “It’s hardly an execution.”

Qui-Gon fixed Loral with a glare. “So says the man who faked an injury to avoid his Padawan’s ball,” he said.

Though it was hard to tell under the golden fur, Obi-Wan was fairly sure that Loral was blushing. Sasha, an incredulous look on her face, turned toward her bondmate. “You faked an injury …?” she said, laughing.

“You know I don’t like to dance,” he said, defensively. Qui-Gon made a derisive noise. “Well, I don’t!” he said, looking aggrieved at his bondmate’s continued laughter.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t like parties,” Qui-Gon said, over Sasha’s laughter. “It’s just that … well, Obi-Wan and I have hardly had time to ourselves since we met …”

“When you haven’t been fighting,” Loral snorted.

“Shut up, Loral,” Qui-Gon said, giving Sasha a fresh case of the giggles. “You of all people know how hard it is for bondmates to get time alone among the Jedi. Isn’t it logical that we’d want to have a small, private ceremony and then …”

“Start fucking?” Sasha said, and Obi-Wan snorted root beer up his nose.

“Sasha!” Loral said, trying hard to keep from laughing and failing miserably. He stood and got Obi-Wan a napkin for the mess on his tunic, and Obi-Wan fixed Sasha with yet another glare.

She ignored it. “Well, isn’t that the truth? I mean, Loral, what did we do for the entire two week–”

Qui-Gon held up his hands, laughing helplessly. “Sasha … too much information, sweeting …”

“Sorry. Well, sort of.” She grinned impishly at Obi-Wan, who couldn’t help but return it. “I do understand, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, really. But you know how Yoda is … he’s like a force of nature. If he wants a party … well, then, by gods, we’re going to have a party.”

Both of them groaned, and Obi-Wan collapsed against Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Sasha and Loral chuckled again. “Well,” Qui-Gon said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the two people opposite him, “it seems that we’re doomed, so to speak. If that’s the case … what can we pay you two to help us out of it early?”

“Early?” Loral said, glancing at Sasha, whose eyes were big. “You mean, help you escape early?”

“That’s precisely what I mean, Master AmKaRa,” Qui-Gon said, lifting one eyebrow in challenge.

Loral rubbed his chin and glanced at his bondmate. “I remember hearing a rumor of a story …” he began slowly. “A place where Knight Kenobi here had been on his travels … where Yoda was wearing something very odd …”

Qui-Gon began to grin, and glanced at Obi-Wan. He was a bit surprised to find Obi-Wan soberly studying the bottle in his hand rather than engaging in the banter, and frowned slightly. “Are you all right?” he asked, very softly.

Looking up for a moment, Obi-Wan could tell that Qui-Gon was dismayed by the sadness in his eyes. “Oh, Obi, we don’t have to …”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” Loral said softly. “I didn’t mean to call up old pain.” Sasha stood and immediately moved to Obi-Wan’s side, hugging him gently.

“Oh, stop it,” Obi-Wan murmured apologetically, leaning momentarily into Sasha’s embrace. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the mood. I’m … I’m just not sure I want to …”

“You don’t have to,” Qui-Gon murmured, for Obi-Wan’s ears alone. “You never have to again.”

Obi-Wan swallowed as he looked into Qui-Gon’s gentle gaze. “I know,” he whispered. Sasha stood and went back to her chair, and Qui-Gon’s arm replaced hers around Obi-Wan. “And it is a pretty silly story,” Obi-Wan said, forcing a measure of cheer he wasn’t sure he felt. 

“You could always consider it blackmail against the old troll,” Loral said, his voice as gentle as the look he gave Obi-Wan.

“As if the thought of him wearing hot pink vinyl would be enough for Yoda to feel the need to hide,” Obi-Wan shot back, surprising himself. All four chuckled, and Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Although the feather boa and the fishnet stockings …” 

–––––––

Obi-Wan surprised himself further by enjoying the rest of his visit with Sasha and Loral. Later that afternoon, Anakin returned from classes, and though he felt the familiar pang at seeing his one-time Padawan, Obi-Wan was also pleased to see the affection between Anakin and Loral. Loral was already nurturing the boy, and Obi-Wan knew Anakin was blossoming under that nurturing.

Before any of them realized it, it was time for dinner, and Sasha begged them to stay. “You’re not going to get a better offer, you know,” she wheedled. “I’d advise you to eat now and avoid the crush.”

The two of them had migrated into each other’s space on the sofa as the afternoon had progressed, until Qui-Gon was leaning back, his long legs spread before him, crossed at the ankles, and Obi-Wan was basically snuggled into his side. Now, at Sasha’s words, Obi-Wan was mildly surprised – and pleased – to see Qui-Gon look at him for input before answering her. He smiled up at Qui-Gon before speaking. “What time are we supposed to be, uh, sacrificed, then?” he asked Sasha, and she tried – without success – for an innocent look.

“Why, Knight Kenobi. I wouldn’t have one idea what you’re talking about,” she said lightly. “I don’t know anything about anything taking place in the topiary garden at half-past seventh either.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and chuckled, listening while Qui-Gon also snorted in amusement before speaking. “I don’t mind – if Obi doesn’t – as long as Loral isn’t cooking.”

“Hey!” Loral said from the kitchen. “I heard that!”

“Yes? So?” Qui-Gon said, raising his voice enough to be heard. “I prefer my food dead and cooked, Loral.”

“Just because you’re an uncivilized barbarian doesn’t mean the rest of us have to suffer,” Loral replied serenely, emerging from the kitchen with his Padawan in tow. “And anyway, we’re ordering out. So there. What do you like on your flatbread?”

Obi-Wan’s head jerked up. “Rhodarian flatbread?” he asked, incredulous. “You have that here too?”

Sasha gave him a puzzled look. “You have had it, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Yes … I have … once,” Obi-Wan replied, pushing deeper into Qui-Gon’s embrace. “I like pineapple on mine,” he said, glad that he didn’t have to show a falsely cheerful face to these people, his friends.

“You would be one of those strange types,” Qui-Gon said, teasing very gently and hugging him very firmly. “Why don’t you get one with vegetables and one with meat, Loral?” he said, more loudly. “And let me help pay.”

Through the genial argument about who would cover the cost of dinner, Obi-Wan kept quiet, thinking hard. The last time he’d had Rhodarian flatbread – more and more, the Force seemed bent on showing him that this was his home, not just a stop in the great reality slide show his life seemed to be. It was still difficult to come to grips with.

Dinner was loud and friendly. Anakin got over his initial shyness and began asking Obi-Wan hesitant questions about his adventures, and Obi-Wan answered most of them, beginning to feel more at ease. He also told Sasha about her former master as a woman, which sent Knight Fellis into absolute paroxysms of laughter.

One thing that astonished everyone at the table – except Anakin – was Obi-Wan’s description of his Padawan-hood. “You were thirteen?” Sasha asked, incredulous. “Why so old?”

“Huh?” was Obi-Wan’s articulate reply, which led to a long, confusing and entertaining – to Anakin – description of how Padawans were chosen in the reality Obi-Wan had come to live in. Anakin, at twelve, it seemed, was truly far too old, since most initiates were chosen between five and eight years of age, unless they chose to go into a different branch of the Jedi, such as the healing arts, the pilot’s guild or the agri-corps – the operative word being chose. Astonished and gratified, Obi-Wan absorbed the information with a silent salute to the Force.

By shortly after seventh hour, they had nearly forgotten about the thing that they weren’t supposed to know about. It took a call for Loral from Mace Windu to remind them, although by then they were feeling altogether too mellow and, in Obi-Wan’s case, sated with root beer, to worry overmuch about it. Sasha and Loral sent them off with admonishments not to try and escape, saying they’d be along shortly.

As they rounded the last corner to the corridor that lead to the topiary garden, they could sense the presence of dozens of Jedi – of course, the loud music and louder voices helped as well. They paused, and Qui-Gon gently pushed Obi-Wan back around the corner. “You don’t have to go, you know,” he said softly. He cupped one of Obi-Wan’s cheeks in his hand. “If you’re feeling rocky over this, I’ll go and make excuses for you. Don’t think that just because my lousy master has arranged this that you have to be there.”

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. “Are you trying to renege on your proposal, Master Jinn?” he said lightly, holding the hand that caressed him.

“Oh, little gods, no, I wouldn’t,” Qui-Gon replied, taking his light words seriously. “I mean to marry you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, at the soonest available moment. But I know how you must feel, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let that little troll push you into anything you don’t want.”

Qui-Gon’s protective behavior and words touched some place deep inside Obi-Wan, and he felt a hard knot loosen, then disappear. “You really are an incurable romantic, aren’t you?” he said, swallowing against a lump in his throat. “I don’t mind,” he continued after kissing Qui-Gon gently. “Let’s get it over with, then maybe we can requisition a honeymoon for a few weeks.”

“Months,” Qui-Gon amended, kissing him back.

“Do I hear years?” Obi-Wan countered, pulling Qui-Gon down to his lips with one hand on the back of his neck. That kiss turned into a production number, and before they realized it, Qui-Gon was pushing Obi-Wan back into the wall, one of his legs between the other’s; Obi-Wan had his tongue half-way down Qui-Gon’s throat; and both were moaning.

“Get a room you cannot, party you have to attend first,” an irascible voice said, calling them back to ground.

“Go away, Yoda,” Qui-Gon growled, not taking his eyes – or his hands – from his fiancé. 

“Either you come in to the party or the party comes out to you, Jinn,” Mace Windu said, and both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan rolled their eyes. 

“Oh, all right,” Qui-Gon said. He reluctantly turned away, but kept Obi-Wan’s hand firmly in his own. “But we’re not going to stay late. Just a warning.”

“Just get out there,” Mace said, herding them forward.

Obi-Wan stopped at the entrance to the garden and gaped. The garden was crammed with Jedi and civilians – people he recognized and people he didn’t. There was a live band in one corner, playing lively dance tunes, and tables set up groaning with food and drink. The garden was decorated with paper hearts and birds, chains of golden paper, bells, dialedas, hoops and flowers, as well as lit with pretty little lanterns which hung from every branch. It was beautiful.

“Huzzah du penda netu,” Obi-Wan murmured, enchanted, and Qui-Gon turned toward him quizzically. “Never mind,” he continued, grinning at his intended. “I was just wondering how you would look in cut-offs and flip-flops.” 

Before a surprised Qui-Gon could answer, both of them were swept away by well-wishers.

–––––––

It was late – well, more correctly, it was very early the next morning. The party had been declared a smash, both by the guests of honor and all the other attendees. Obi-Wan had discovered the joy of root beer floats, and Qui-Gon had gotten to dance several times – slowly – with Obi-Wan. Queen Amidala of the Naboo had sent them a congratulatory holo and invited them to Naboo for their marriage and honeymoon, offering a secluded cabin on a mountain lake for as long as they wanted it. Yoda had offered to officiate at their wedding and was turned down. Mace had offered to kiss the bride – whichever one it was – and was also turned down. Sasha had dragged Loral onto the dance floor and he’d tried to claim his tail was sprained, so she’d ended up dancing with a furiously blushing Anakin. Toasts – some touching, some silly, some downright pornographic – had been made and friendships had been renewed. And no one had even mentioned Obi-Wan’s origins at all.

They were finally back in Qui-Gon’s apartment – their apartment – on their bed, and Obi-Wan was on top of Qui-Gon, impaled on his cock, his eyes closed in bliss and not moving, prolonging the sweet torment. A deep, heartfelt groan from below him made him open his eyes, and his arousal ratcheted up even higher, if that were possible. Qui-Gon was rigid, his back arched, his eyes closed, panting with the effort of holding back.

“So beautiful,” Obi-Wan murmured, gasping when Qui-Gon opened his eyes and lifted his knees, managing to shove himself up just a bit deeper.

“You’re … the beautiful … one,” Qui-Gon ground out. Their hands were locked together, but Qui-Gon put one of Obi-Wan’s on his own rigid member. “Touch yourself, Obi-love,” he said, and Obi-Wan swallowed hard.

“I love you,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, and Qui-Gon froze for an instant.

“I pledge my life to you,” Qui-Gon whispered, watching as Obi-Wan began stroking himself. “Gods … so beautiful …”

“Pledge my life to you,” Obi-Wan repeated, also in a whisper, beginning a rocking motion in time with the movement of his fist.

“Through the good and in the bad,” Qui-Gon said, putting his own hand over Obi-Wan’s.

“Through the good and in the bad,” Obi-Wan repeated, using his knees to raise himself up slightly higher with every rocking movement. “Yes … harder …”

“One in the Force …” Qui-Gon arched higher and groaned loudly.

“One in the Force …” Obi-Wan repeated, beginning to ride in earnest. He pumped himself hard with their combined hands, bringing him so close to that edge he yearned for …

“In life and in death,” Qui-Gon’s face contorted and he cried out, coming hard. “Oh, gods! Obi-Wan!”

“In life and in death!” Obi-Wan cried triumphantly, his come fountaining between them, his body awash in ecstasy, his heart overflowing.

A long time later, they lay entwined on the bed, covered by a soft quilt. They had slept and woken and slept again, on each awakening checking to see that the other was still there, that it hadn’t been a dream, that it was bright reality. Obi-Wan hadn’t dreamed at all, that he could remember. It was now just before dawn, as the crepuscular light inching around the blinds told them, and they were awake again.

“Would you like to take Amidala’s offer, Obi-love?” Qui-Gon asked in a soft rumble.

Obi-Wan smiled into Qui-Gon’s chest at the endearment – though it still annoyed him, he was getting used to it. Like so much in this reality. “I think it sounds wonderful. But what do you think?”

“I think we’d better get the hell off this planet before the council starts giving us missions,” Qui-Gon replied, stroking Obi-Wan’s hair gently. “A few weeks – months – on a pastoral planet with absolutely nothing of serious importance to do sounds like just the ticket to me.”

“When can we leave?” Obi-Wan asked, and Qui-Gon chuckled.

“Later this morning? I think the sooner the better, actually,” Qui-Gon replied. “Let me up, Obi, I’ve got to use the ‘fresher.”

“I’ll get us something to drink while you do,” Obi-Wan said, also rising and admiring the long, lean form of his husband-to-be. “Tea?”

“Mmm,” Qui-Gon agreed, leaning down to kiss Obi-Wan. “Then we can come back to bed for a bit, yes?”

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan agreed.

It was the work of a few moments to get water in the pot and heated. While the tea leaves steeped, Qui-Gon came out of the ‘fresher and wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan and nuzzled his hair and neck. “Perfect,” he murmured. “Sweaty, well-loved Obi-Wan. If I could bottle this scent …”

“Would you stop it?” Obi-Wan laughed, surprised to find himself blushing – again. 

There was a sudden weak knock at the door, and they looked at each other. “Who the hell?” Qui-Gon muttered, not moving toward the door.

“Can’t be Yoda,” Obi-Wan said, frowning.

“No, he’s going to be hung-over for most of the day … Mace too,” Qui-Gon agreed. The knock came again, louder and more insistent.

“The Council would call,” Obi-Wan said, pouring two cups of tea. The knock came again, this time weakening into a scraping slide.

Obi-Wan gently broke out of Qui-Gon’s embrace. “Let me get rid of whoever it is,” he said irritably, snatching his robe up and pulling it on. He stalked to the door – across the new, plush carpeting – and snatched it open, all ready to snap at whoever stood on the other side.

A short, black-robed figure leaned against the doorjamb. “You said I could come to you,” the caller croaked – then sagged, his legs no longer supporting him. Obi-Wan barely had time to catch him as he slumped. 

“Qui!” he shouted, and Qui-Gon was there, helping him carry the unconscious, bloody man into the apartment, getting him situated on the sofa. “Get the healers,” Obi-Wan urged, but Qui-Gon was ahead of him, already hurrying to the dataset. Obi-Wan turned back to his visitor. “Maul? Maul!”

Obi-Wan tore open Maul’s robe and gasped – Maul’s leathers were nearly shredded. His body was criss-crossed with burns and cuts, some still open and seeping, and his left arm was obviously broken and crudely secured to his body. There were bruises all over his face – not that it was easy to see, under the tattoos – and several open cuts on his head. One of his vestigial horns looked like it had been ripped off.

Qui-Gon suddenly appeared next to Obi-Wan, several damp towels in his hands. He had paused to put on his robe, but that was all, and now he hissed in sympathy at the sight of Maul’s abused body. “The healers are on their way,” he said, beginning to clean away the worst of the blood gently. “Who could have done this to him?”

With a pained gasp of breath, Maul’s eyes snapped open and he began to struggle weakly. Obi-Wan immediately put his hands on Maul’s shoulders, crooning softly. “It’s all right, you’re all right, you’re safe. The healers are on their way. Maul, who did this to you? Sidious is dead!”

“D– Darth Tyrannus,” Maul gasped out. “He – he might … he might have followed me … be … careful …” He passed out again. The healers thundered into the apartment immediately after, bearing a stretcher and emergency meds, gently shouldering Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan away.

“Darth Tyrannus?” Qui-Gon said, wrapping Obi-Wan tightly in his arms. “Who the hell …?”

“I have no idea,” Obi-Wan said, blinking. “None at all.”

“‘He might have followed …’” Qui-Gon repeated. “We’d better alert the Council.”

“Those that are awake,” Obi-Wan agreed, watching the healers carry Maul out, after prepping him for bacta. “Oh, well, I guess we didn’t need a long honeymoon after all, did we?” Obi-Wan said with a small, wry smile.

Qui-Gon turned him and looked deeply into his eyes. “Every day for the rest of our lives and beyond will be our honeymoon, Obi-love,” he said.

Obi-Wan smiled broadly. “You are such a hopeless romantic,” he said, hugging Qui-Gon tightly. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

 

end


End file.
